


Johnny I Hardly Knew You

by Ulthar



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy
Genre: Bondage, Consentacles, Corruption, F/M, Femdom, Teratophilia, it's heartwarming I promise, monster smut, weird dicks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-20
Updated: 2017-11-20
Packaged: 2019-02-04 20:50:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,363
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12779247
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ulthar/pseuds/Ulthar
Summary: There are certain things about which it was not polite to speak on Coruscant.  When Jedi were accepted to the temple at an older age, reclaimed from Dark or Gray orders, there tended to be side effects.





	Johnny I Hardly Knew You

**Author's Note:**

> Title comes from an old Irish anti-war song because I can't not name fics after folksongs. I promise it doesn't actually come up, but....it's a good song.
> 
> This was inspired by a physical dark side corruption Kylux fic I read ages ago and now can't find. I remember loving it but also thinking there were things I would have done differently, but I didn't want to step on the author's toes by writing a slightly different fic with the same premise. So I went and inflicted my self-indulgent weird monster angst smut on poor Anakin.
> 
> It took me a looong time to write this, and it may be a bit long itself (I had just made a Jedi costume when I started this, so I got fixated on how long it would take just to get undressed), but I’m pleased with how it…climaxes.
> 
> If anyone knows what the original kylux fic was please let me know! I'd love to be able to link to it.

There are certain things about which it was not polite to speak on Coruscant.  When Jedi were accepted to the temple at an older age, reclaimed from Dark or Gray orders, there tended to be side effects. 

It was not polite to point out that certain Jedi masters were never seen in public without hoods or veils over their eyes, or that Mace Windu wore his robes longer than others, so no one had ever seen his feet.  Or that when Qui-Gon brought a wide-eyed boy from Tatooine to stand before the council, the child was fidgeting uncomfortably with white leather gloves on both hands.

Such things are not spoken of, but they are noticed.

Years later, Anakin pulled off the gloves—dark brown, now, like his robes—and Senator Amidala saw his blackened fingertips and remembered them from when they were both children.   Because such things were not spoken of, she took his hand and silenced his explanations with a kiss.

But that was before the war.  

When Anakin was promoted to General, their stolen days together became snatched hours, barely time for a kiss and few words before he had to return to the front, and they both became less willing to exchange either as the war dragged on.  Instead, they merely sat together, feeling aged beyond their years.  In those moments, Padme could almost forget the weight of the responsibility that had been placed on her shoulders at too young an age.  She could lean against his chest and pretend she was some primitive princess to be rescued by a dashing knight with a shining sword.  She could pretend she wanted to be.

Anakin, however, stopped removing his gloves, even in private.  For months, Padme said nothing, but when the last of the treaties were signed and the various armies returned to tense patrolling patterns, she was determined to have her husband back, even clumsy and odd as he had always been.

Padme had dinner made and sent up to her apartments, and called for Anakin to meet her.  Then she dimmed the lights and began to worry.  She re-pinned her hair three times while waiting, feeling like a blushing virgin waiting on a suitor she had never met, or like a prisoner waiting on the results of a death sentence appeal.  She couldn’t explain the knot of dread growing in her stomach, or the way her heart raced and her hands trembled.

When the door slid open, he smiled, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes.  When he leaned down to kiss her, it was chaste.  Undeterred, she took his arm and led him to the table.

By the light of three gently glowing crystals, they picked at some exotic vegetables and talked about the war, Padme careful not to broach any subject that might open a too-fresh wound, but silently hoping Anakin might speak of what was troubling him on his own.  She drew on her courtier’s training as she hadn’t had to in years, the ability to say nothing while opening the conversation to anything.  She smiled with a confidence she didn’t feel, she brushed her hand against his gloves with calculated warmth at every opportunity.

He recoiled from her touch and said little.  Still, when the meal was finished, Padme stood and approached Anakin’s chair, took his face in her hands, and leaned down to kiss him again.

He resisted, stiff and awkward, but she persisted, sliding one hand into his hair and testing his lips with her tongue, trying not to invade, just to invite.

_please let me back in, I love you, please_

After what seemed like ages, something in him melted.  His lips parted with a faint sigh, and with a surge of triumph she tightened his hand in his hair and slid her tongue into his mouth, pushing their lips together harder, putting every desperate lonely hour of the last year into that kiss—

–and pulled back with a cry, a sharp, stinging pain in her lips.  She pressed a hand to her mouth and when she looked there was a smear of blood on her fingers.  Anakin was standing, covering his mouth with one hand, backing away, a look of blind horror in his eyes, stammering an apology.

“Anakin, look, I’m fine, I’m just—Anakin what _happened_?”

He melted again, or crumbled.  He looked like he might cry, but he lowered his hand and opened his mouth.

At first Padme thought it was an old wound, broken teeth and bruises from a blow to the face, maybe, but as she looked closer she could tell the teeth weren’t broken.  They had grown, weirdly, uneven and sharp, so cruel looking that she suddenly wondered how he didn’t cut _himself_ on them—though to be fair, she couldn’t be entirely sure he hadn’t, because the inside of his mouth had gone black, like old blood.

Anakin closed his mouth, obviously waiting for her to recoil, but Padme refused, feeling oddly hopeful. _If this is all it is…_

She stepped forward and cupped his face again.  He flinched but didn’t resist.  She watched his eyes for a moment, waiting for his breathing to steady.  He licked his lips, and she caught another glimpse of jagged teeth and a dark, oddly pointed tongue.

“Is this like what happened to your hands?”

Anakin kept staring fixedly at a point over Padme’s shoulder, but he nodded.

“Anakin…”  She reached for his right hand, the one she knew was still flesh and blood, no matter how odd.  “You know I’ve never minded.”

He shook his head, jaw clenched.  It took him a moment to force out any words.

“It’s worse.”

Padme knew it was useless to ask how much worse, so she started pulling off his gloves.  His hands were limp in hers, unresisting.  She started with the prosthetic, as if this could soften the blow of whatever she would find next, for both of them.  She lingered with his metal fingers in her hand, skeletal and cold, but familiar.

Holding her breath, she started on the left hand, slowly tugging off the stiff leather.  When his hand got free, Padme gasped involuntarily, but Anakin seemed almost resigned.   He opened his palm to her.

The black that had stained his fingertips as a child had progressed almost to the elbow, but it was more than that.  His blackened fingers seemed longer than she remembered, and the nails had grown into heavy claws.  The shortest was probably an inch long, and each of them curved into a wicked point.  Tentatively, she reached out to his hand again, and this time he didn’t flinch.  Tracing two fingers down his palm, she found his skin papery and faintly rough, like tiny scales.  Flipping his hand over, she could see larger scales, black and hard.  An oversized tendon flexed under his skin.  Breathing shallowly, she slid her fingers between his.  His living hand had been large when she’d last seen it; now it dwarfed hers.  He held her hand without clasping it, holding his claws well clear of her skin.

“What is doing this to you?”

He swallowed three times before he managed to choke out an answer.  Padme could feel both of their heartbeats through her hand.

“The war,” he finally managed.  “The Force.”

When she waited, he continued:  “When you use the Force out of anger, it…marks you.  You’re supposed to keep calm, act rationally, and I _try_ , I really do but,” finally, he looked at her, pleading, “it’s _war_ , Padme.”

“I know.”  Force, did she know.

She went back to considering his hand.  “It’s beautiful, in a way.”

Anakin stiffened.  “Don’t mock me.”

“I’m not.”  Padme continued to examine Anakin’s hand, watching how the light glinted off the scales.  They were slightly iridescent, not straight black.  As she touched the strange skin and felt taloned fingers curving around her own, she shivered with something that was not fear.

Deliberately, looking Anakin straight in the eyes, she raised his hand and–carefully–sucked one long finger into her mouth, avoiding the point of his claw.  Making sure his eyes were fixed on her, she hollowed her cheeks around him.  When she stroked her tongue along the underside of his finger, he whimpered.

“Padme, you can’t—“

“Why?  Am I embarrassing you?”  She might have been embarrassed herself if she hadn’t been so lonely for so long.  Instead, she pressed her body along the side of his, putting her mouth to his ear.  “You used to like it when I sucked on you,” she whispered, and then she did, drawing the lobe of his ear into her mouth and biting it ever so slightly.  He was still human there, still soft and sensitive, and when her teeth touched his skin he gave way and sank against her, finally, _finally_ touching her with both hands, if only to keep himself standing.  She thought she felt something stiff against her hip, and this emboldened her.

“Anakin, I want to see you.”

“You don’t understand.  It—it’s more than just my hand. “

“Show me,” she said, more sharply.  “Show me why I should be so afraid of you.”

Anakin shrugged off his cloak, letting it pool in soft folds around his feet.  Seeming glad of an excuse to drop his gaze again, he unbuckled his tabard and let it fall as well.  His taloned hand fumbled with the ties at the sides of his tunic, but it too slipped off his shoulders and onto the marble floor.

He hesitated again at the hem of his undertunic, and Padme heard herself half growl in impatience as she reached over and started to pull it up for him.  Meekly, he lifted his arms and helped her pull it over his head.  Once it was off, his hair falling into his face in a way that reminded her of how he looked when they had already been fucking for an hour and not begun to tire – once it was off, she let herself step back and look at him.  

His living arm was black scales to the elbow, as if he had dipped his forearm in ink.  They faded to pale human skin only on the inside of his upper arm, which looked soft and vulnerable in contrast to how the scales seemed to have fused into thick, ridged plates on the back of his forearm, the one above his elbow a jagged spur.  His other arm was black where it met the prosthetic, and Padme almost laughed at how fragile and mundane the machinery looked now.

He wouldn’t meet her eyes again, but she didn’t bother forcing him, content to rake her eyes over his changing body.  His shoulders, dusted with patches of scale, seemed subtly different, broader, but also slightly hunched, as if the bones were shifting inside him.  Muscles standing out in unfamiliar ways in his chest and shoulders, he looked strong, but maybe not in a healthy way.  Padme watched them shift as his chest rose and fell, his breathing measured but obviously catching nervously in his throat.  She licked her lips.

Her eyes drifted from his collar bone – a stripe of stark, bony black against the naked skin in the hollow of his throat –to the hard line of muscle that swept downward from his hips and disappeared.  Absently, her hands drifted to the waistband of his soft linen trousers and brushed the skin just above it.  Anakin shivered and gasped, more sharply than she thought reasonable.  He couldn’t be _that_ sensitive, like a preteen about to cum in his pants from a touch on the thigh – but when she pulled his waistband down a fraction of an inch, he whined, and his abs spasmed under her hand.  Once he steadied, she noticed her thumb was pressed against a thin black line, like a vein, that coiled and branched upward to fade near his hip.  There were more of them, curling out of his pants and across his muscled stomach, like poison from a wound.  Seized by a desperate need to see more, she grabbed at his waistband, but his hand stopped her, clawed fingers digging into her wrist.

“Wait,” he said, hoarsely.  Impatient, held more by his willingness to touch her than by his hand, she let him bend down and unbuckle his boots.

His feet were more changed than his hands.  They uncurled painfully as he kicked his boots behind him, boots that obviously no longer fit the way they should.  Four long toes ended in massive curved claws that must have been curled uncomfortably under his feet in his boots – when he stood barefoot on the cold stone floor, they spread wide like the talons of a predatory bird, and he sighed, his entire body relaxing slightly.  The  fifth toe had somehow migrated upwards, becoming a vestigial spike on the inside of his ankle.  His heels did not quite touch the floor.

As his weight shifted a vision flashed in Padme’s mind, unbidden, of herself on her back, him standing over her, one taloned foot wrapping itself around her thigh, inches from her dripping sex, pulling her leg outward, opening her, pinning her, tearing pinprick holes in soft skin–

He released her hand.   Pushing away the images, Padme took this as encouragement and knelt,  not letting herself thing about how the side of one brutal claw now pressed against her knee, and began to slowly pull down his waistband.  Her hands lingered on his sharp hip bones and the muscled curve of his ass, and her heart pounded as she saw the thin black veins that made lacy patterns on his stomach thicken until his skin looked mottled, then pure black.  

Halfway down his thighs, Padme let his pants fall.  She barely noticed how his legs bent and flexed oddly, slightly digitigrade, as he lifted his feet to kick them off and to the side.  

She had been prepared for many things, but not the cage of twisted black metal that kept her husband’s cock hanging docile between his legs.

Padme gaped up at him.  “Where did you _get_ this?”

“Obi-wan—”

“ _Obi-wan_ put this on you?”

“Obi-wan _suggested_ —-it’s an…unusual technique, but…”

It seemed hard for him to talk, and Padme could see why.  She could see skin in places through the cage, black as coal and looking painfully swollen.

She must have looked appalled, because Anakin continued trying to explain.  “Padme, there were times during my last deployment when…I was dangerous.”  He grimaced, almost laughed.  “More dangerous than usual.  We were trying to question a smuggler, and when I couldn’t decide whether I wanted to put my hand through his chest or my cock down his throat, Obi-Wan thought I could do with…more than mental self-control techniques.”

Padme lifted her hand again and gingerly felt the metal restraint.  It was warm with the heat of Anakin’s body, and his locked sex twitched at her touch, desperate but unable to harden.

Anakin gritted his teeth, but she continued to explore between his legs, feeling a strange, sudden thrill in his torment.  His balls were free except for the thick ring at the base keeping the contraption in place.  They felt huge and swollen in her hand.  Unable to resist, she gave them a gentle squeeze, and he gasped and almost fell forward, catching himself with both hands on her shoulders.  There was fear in his eyes.

“Padme, I’ve ached for you, you don’t understand—” _Not true_ , she thought, _I do understand_ , “—but you can’t take it off.  I don’t want to hurt you.”

She knelt with her hands on his thighs and his on her shoulders, torn between compassion and the waves of heat that were coursing through her body, making her brain feel fuzzy and her bodice too tight.

“Do you trust me?”

He blinked at her, then nodded.

“I have an idea.”

Padme stood and pulled Anakin with her, unwilling to let go of his hand now that he was finally willing to let her hold it.  She led him to her bedroom, and after some searching found a small wooden box.  She pulled out a spool and a pair of scissors and led him towards the bed.  Unceremoniously, she yanked off several layers of comforter and blankets and a dozen odd pillows, scattering them on the floor.  

She gestured for him to get on the bed and he did, kneeling in the center in way that looked especially awkward with his feet grown so long and oddly jointed.  Padme sighed.

“Lie down, on your back.  And spread out.”

He did, and he began to understand as she cut a length of wide satin ribbon from the spool and wrapped it a three times around his prosthetic hand, then around the nearest bed post, tying it in a bow on the other side.  She moved around to his living hand, doing her best to tie it securely without cutting off blood flow.  It seemed to take him ages to understand, but as he pulled against his bonds and found them secure his bemused expression turned impressed.  Padme found tying his clawed feet more difficult, but the way his legs stretched, showing off his lean thighs with the muscles _not quite right_ made the struggle worth it.

Padme took a moment to admire her handiwork, briefly stunned by how her heart was light at her lover’s long-awaited return, and how heavy her gut felt with a dark fascination she didn’t understand.  Couldn’t understand, not now, not with the pulse between her legs turning everything hot and fuzzy.  So desperately horny it was blurring her vision, her fingers shook as she pulled on the lacing at her back.  The gown fell around her instantly in a silken pool.  At least _she’d_ had the decency to not wear a dozen layers.  She stepped out of it and hurriedly slipped out of her shoes and her simple black panties, briefly noticing how wet they were in her hand, resisting the urge to grind into her fingers as she looked at Anakin.

He gazed up at her through half-closed eyes, looking as stunned as he always did when she disrobed.  That, more than anything, was almost too familiar, too out of place with the viscious talons and black veins twisting up the inside of his thighs, the jagged fangs she could just see when he gasped at the sight of her.

Almost.

A heartbeat and the thought was gone, and she was crawling over him, clit twitching as she held herself inches from his still-caged cock, suddenly infinitely patient.  Determined to touch every inch of him, she took his head in her hands, feeling his hair soft in her fingers, the hard line of his jaw.  He groaned and spasmed as she ran her fingers down the pale, delicate length of his throat, his whole body reacting to her lightest touch.    She pushed her fingertips into the bulk of his shoulders, feeling new muscles at odd angles.  He whimpered, bucking his hips, almost touching her with his cage, but she lifted her hips just in time and make a warning noise.

Anakin whined again, and the dark lust in Padme’s stomach flared at the sound.  She pulled back and rested on thin finger on the dark metal cage, so lightly she was sure he couldn’t feel it, but his eyes were desperate and hungry all the same.  

Padme heard herself speak, voice dropping into a purr she had never used before, sounding almost mocking.  "Are you safe now?  Not going to tear me apart with your wicked cock?“

"Yes Padme please Padme no I won’t I can’t–”

His babbling cut off as she twisted the catch on the cage, slightly surprised it didn’t require a key, with Obi-Wan’s baffling commitment to abstinence.  It came off in two pieces in her hands and Anakin groaned, guttural and unrestrained like the animal he seemed to be becoming.  He lay panting and quivering as his cock finally swelled, probably for the first time in months.

It was jet black as his hands, and larger than she remembered.  Thick and strangely shaped as she took it in her hands, the head had grown pointed and distinctly inhuman, the hole hidden by folds of velvety black skin that formed several ridges before merging with the shaft.  Padme pushed her thumb into the center and found it slick; the folds oozed as she pressed and Anakin moaned.  

“Is this what you didn’t want me to see?”

Anakin couldn’t answer, because she had cupped his swollen balls in her other hand and squeezed.

“Are you ashamed of your sinful body?”

Running her fingers along the top of his cock, she felt ridged growths, like blunt scales.  Her pussy clenched at the thought of how that would feel.

He whined and twitched, but only when her pinky neared the base did he cry out.

“Please, no, don’t touch–”

But it was too late, her finger hit something surprisingly soft lying against his pelvis, and Padme felt a momentary fear as something–several somethings–uncoiled from the base of his shaft.

“I should have warned you, Padme, I’m sorry–”

Padme gaped, but the fear had left her as quickly as it had come.  Her mind hummed with possibilities as four short black tentacles writhed and grasped at nothing on Anakin’s belly.  Unthinking, she leaned forward.  One, then two, leapt towards her and into her open mouth, coiling around her tongue and sliding towards her throat, gentle but wild.  Anakin panted shallowly, overwhelmed by unfamiliar sensations.  When he relaxed slightly, she pulled back and moved toward the other two, letting each kiss her deeply in turn.  The longer they probed her mouth the better it felt, as though something in his skin was heightening her sensation.  When she finally sat up with a sigh, her lips and tongue felt pleasantly swollen, and the mocking tone was gone from her voice.

“Did you think you would disgust me, Ani?”  she asked gently.  His terrible beauty no longer seemed strange to her, only thrilling, a danger she had harnessed.  She felt affection, and reverence.  "It’s as if you’ve been remade for my pleasure.  I’ve always loved you.  I’ll love the monster you become.“

The future tense couldn’t have been lost on him, but she gave him no time to consider it as she finally touched her sex to his, rubbing her wet opening on his huge shaft, readying herself.  Placing her hands on his shoulders, she lifted herself slowly over the tip and eased herself down.  She gasped as she was spread wider than ever before, stopping briefly when the head was inside to let the slight twinge of pain dissipate.  They were both panting, Anakin straining not to thrust involuntarily into her faster than she could endure.

She cried out as she finally sunk all the way onto him, feeling filled in a way she hadn’t thought possible.  His cock pulsed inside her, or her pussy throbbed and clenched, or both, but either way her vision was full of spots and her body was on fire, but then suddenly it wasn’t enough, and she started to ride him, desperately, gasping as the swollen head of his cock filled her and the scaled shaft rubbed her so intensely inside she could feel it in her clit.

Two tentacles wrapped around to push and probe her from behind labia as she rode, pulling her lips further apart and adding lubrication to the shaft.  She tingled everywhere they touched, her head growing foggier and foggier as everything faded to pleasure.  When the other two slithered up the other side to grasp at her clit, small but hard and aching in midair, sight finally left her, and she lost control of her body as she came around him, convulsing and almost screaming as as a wave of pleasure hit her like a wall of fire.  She lay moaning on his chest and he strained against the ribbons to thrust into her, letting her ride aftershocks until she felt a new wet heat deep inside her.

Anakin howled when he came, strange harmonics in his voice that would have chilled Padme had she heard them before today.  Instead, as she lay on his chest, his softening cock between them, dripping cum-–surprisingly white, against his mottled black skin-–against his panting stomach, as she listened to his heartbeat and they both relaxed as they hadn’t in years, her heart was overflowing.  She grinned stupidly up at him and he finally smiled back, teeth bright and sharp.  Eventually, she rolled over and off him, and reached to untie the ribbon still holding him spread across the bed.

Anakin came back to himself with a start.  "Wait, you can’t-–”

Padme ignored him and tugged the ribbon undone.  When all four strands lay discarded on the floor, Anakin was looking at her with panic in his eyes.

“You could have broken those with the Force anytime you wanted, Ani.  I know you would never hurt me, even if you don’t.”

Anakin blinked at her, obviously shocked he hadn’t realized that.

After a split second’s consideration, Padme ran on hand down his chest possessively.  "That doesn’t mean we should take any…unnecessary chances, though.“

Mostly soft between his legs, his cock gave a faint twitch at that.  Padme smirked. _I thought so._

Relaxing again, Padme pulled one clawed hand over her so Anakin’s strange-familiar bulk was behind and around her, warm and comforting.  

"I expect I could find you a new cage,” she said.  "Maybe a more comfortable one.  Or perhaps less?  Prettier, at least-–silver.  I’d like it to stand out.“

Anakin’s taloned fingers wrapped around hers, engulfing her hand.  "I’d…I would like that, I think,” he whispered into her neck.

“And a collar,” she continued, feeling sleep approaching fast.  "White leather.  Or pink, even.  Oh, I could match them to my dress…“

Anakin chuckled and shifted behind her, a nightmare made solid.  Her nightmare, made safe.  With a satisfied noise, she snuggled closer and, for the first time in months, fell asleep content in his arms.

**Author's Note:**

> Feel free to imagine any future you want after this!  I’m equally happy about the possibility of a wholesome happy ending where somehow everyone realizes Jedi asceticism was only making things worse  and Padme and Anakin have weird threesomes with Obi-Wan and live happily ever after as I am about the possibility of Padme becoming the evil emperor and keeping Anakin naked on a leash by her throne to eat diplomats she doesn’t like.  If you’ve got more ideas I’d love to hear them.
> 
> If you can guess what Anakin's dick is based on I'll give you a prize (as a hint, there aren't tentacles on the source material, unfortunately).


End file.
